


Her tears left no trace upon her cheeks

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Darkish Jon and Sansa, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Murder, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-24 11:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16639541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: I dreamt of a maid at a feast, with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs.And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.The fair maid wept, but her tears, crystal clear, left no trace upon her cheeks.Written for Jonsa Drabbles Day 6 - Tears





	Her tears left no trace upon her cheeks

_I dreamt of a maid at a feast, with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs._

_And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow._

_The fair maid wept, but her tears, crystal clear, left no trace upon her cheeks._

 

 

Her husband arrives on a crisp, misty morning. She greets him with an equally chilly courtesy, for which he cannot fault her.

She feels a tense shadow at her back, and sees the jerk of surprise that twists Tyrion's maimed features.

"Lord Commander," he winces, and Sansa wishes Jon would learn to conceal his anger.

"I should get some rest. For the feast."  _And the bedding,_ the unspoken threat echoes inside her head.

 

Three tawny drops in her husband's wine —and three clear ones she won't allow herself to remember— and he never touches her. He passes out on a settee in her solar, and she's grateful for his impeccable timing.

She spends her second wedding night in her half-brother's arms, and lets him take her maidenhead.

 

The unwelcome new Lord of Winterfell falls ill within the sennight. "It's the climate," Maester Alderman assures her. "Or perhaps the food."

 _It's my sorrow,_ she knows, but she only offers him a solemn nod.

 

She returns to her chambers, where Jon is waiting for her. There's a desperate edge to his lovemaking tonight, so she's not surprised when he reminds her: "I can't stay."

"Just a little while longer," she tells him simply.

 

Another fortnight, and her husband is dead. 

 

They're lying under the furs together, when the quakes of her pleasure transform into sobs she tries to hide in his chest.

He pulls her closer and kisses her hair. "I wish it could have been different," his voice rumbles. "I wish I could have done it with my own hands."

His wishes are useless. She's learned to protect herself, she never needed him for that. 

But the fact that he's willing to try, no matter what, for her, not because it might benefit him, is the reason he's the only man she'll ever allow into her bed.


End file.
